


Hot Waters

by Jess_B_Fossil



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon-Compliant, Drama, Fluff, Frottage, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Romance, Smut, hot tubs, im not joking - Freeform, otayuri - Freeform, really its just twelve pages of internalized feelings and smut, this is super gay, two guys in a hot tub five feet apart because they aint gay, vine references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 21:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19472158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_B_Fossil/pseuds/Jess_B_Fossil
Summary: It wasn't the first time Yuri had ever heard the phrase, "Two guys chilling in a hot tub five feet apart, because they ain't gay", but he 'd never expected to hear it as a complaint from Otabek. Funny how growing up is, especially when growing up, means falling in love with your best friend. ESPECIALLY when your best friend isn't gay.





	Hot Waters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theangryuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse/gifts).



> I miss the days of vine.

_**Hot** **Waters** _

Life used to be pretty simple, for Yuri Plisetsky. 

When he was ten, his days consisted of this: Wake up before the crack of dawn, get his ass to the ballet studio and dance until his feet were bruised and close to bleeding. Then it was off to the skating rink. His grandfather would cook dinner, and then they’d ice Yuri’s feet, and then it was off to bed. 

Rinse and repeat. 

When he was a teenager, his routine changed slightly: ballet and skating were swapped, the latter taking precedence. Up before dawn to be at the rink before the public. Skate until his feet were bruised and swollen. If it was Tuesday or Thursday, it was off to the ballet studio, otherwise it was home to ice his feet and rest. His grandfather _still_ cooked, albeit slower and with more care, because he was getting _old_. Followed by his nightly chat with Otabek and then bed. 

Rinse and repeat, once more. 

When Yuri finally hit his growth spurt, it was _absurdly_ late. So late that Yuri had literally lost all hope up winding northward of six-foot, but then _eighteen_ came with a vengeance and he somehow grew a foot in a fucking _year_. It wrecked him, and everything about his skating.

Now it was: Wake up even _earlier_ but still before the crack of dawn, to stretch and roll out his sore joints. Hit up the rink and stay longer, running drill after drill. Then the dance studio every fucking day, because _his center of balance wouldn’t keep itself_. Then home, where he’d make his own dinner, because his grandfather had moved into some fancy old-person’s home and Yuri finally had the place to himself. Then he’d ice his feet, binge-watch whatever crappy reality show was convenient, while simultaneously chatting with Beka. Usually he fell asleep during the call, food still in his lap, and Potya licking his fingers. 

Rinse and repeat. In fact, he’d rinsed-and-repeated this particular schedule for several years. 

He was just a few months into twenty-two, when his life became complicated. 

Yuri expected it really, he always expected something. He’d dealt with some pretty convoluted shit before, and he’d learned to how to react in record time. Really, life could have thrown just about anything his way, and he’d weasel through it, relatively unscathed. 

Until that summer. Like every year, Otabek came up from Almaty and stayed for a few weeks. He’d hole up in Yuri’s room, hogging the sheets at night and using too much of Yuri’s shampoo. They’d argue over what to have for dinner, bask in each other’s presence on the couch, and argue whether or not Yuri was _actually_ a Slytherin. 

You know, the mindless and boring shit that best friends forever did on the daily. 

Otabek always showered before dinner; it was like some weird, unspoken rule of his. He’d arrived late in the afternoon that year, and hadn’t even unpacked his luggage yet. Yuri poked his head into the bedroom to tell him that dinner was in the oven and--

Otabek was pulling off his shirt. Pulling off his shirt, his legs still clad in those ridiculous leather pants he insisted on, despite it being boiling outside. His olive skin a dark contrast against the stark white walls, hard lines cut into his abdomen from years of training. Yuri watched the slight drag of his cotton shirt as Otabek lifted it up. 

Yuri had seen this sight a thousand times, over the years. 

Except that this time, his mouth went dry and his heart sped up. It was like he couldn’t breath, he couldn’t stop looking, he _had_ to get his hands on Otabek, to see how smooth his skin really was, or how hard his muscles felt, and-- _what the actual fuck was wrong with him_?

Otabek had caught him staring, cocking his head to the side, _just fucking waiting_. 

Yuri wasn’t old enough for this. Or maybe he was too old for this, or maybe he was just right-- 

Was there a right time to realize that you _wanted_ your best friend?

Who was _also a dude_ , Yuri reminded himself. Yeah, that made things complicated, _very_ complicated, because Yuri very much liked the female form. And he was well acquainted with it, at length.

That summer had been incredibly awkward. And the summer after that. And after that too, as well as all the time in between. 

By the time Yuri was twenty-six, he missed his routine, the _simpler_ parts of his life. The mundane shit that he used to complain about when he was a child. Because if it was something that he’d learned while living in this complicated mess for _years_ , it was that he couldn’t handle it for much longer without cracking like a fucking egg. 

* * *

“Yura, why are you all the way over there?”

If Yuri were younger, he might have squawked unattractively at the sudden question. But he’d learned to hone his thoughts, to take a breath and let it out and-- 

Absolutely avoid looking anywhere below Otabek’s neck, because he was currently _very_ shirtless. And really, those swim trunks didn’t hide shit either. 

“Leave me alone!” he practically spat. The words came out a little more harsh than he would have liked, and he barely hid his wince. But Otabek was a master of interpreting the _Tone of Yuri_ , and thought nothing of it. “I’m just trying to get comfortable,” he finally mumbled, wiggling around slightly on the bench. 

“You know, when you said you were house sitting for Victor and Yuuri, I wasn’t expecting it to be for so long,” Otabek replied with, leaning back slightly. His arms were splayed out across the edge of the hot tub, and it took everything Yuri had to blink off the urge to sneak a peek of his chest. 

“It’s not my fault they decided to take a fucking _month long_ honeymoon,” Yuri groused.

“They’ve been married for a decade.”

“You think I don’t know that shit? Something about renewing their vows, and blah blah. I stopped listening after they started getting _handsy_ with each other.”

Otabek hummed at that, his lips quirking into a tiny little smile. 

“ _Still_ ,” Yuri, snapped right back, “Doesn’t change the fact that they’re _annoying as fuck_.”

“I think they’re cute,” Otabek said, moving his hand to swirl a fingertip through the water.

Yuri gaped at him. Otabek wasn’t the kind of person to just randomly say shit like that. The things that he thought were cute were few and far between.. well, Yuri had kept a running tally. Potya, teddy bears and-- 

_Yura, you’re cute when you’re angry_. 

Yuri’s mouth went dry, telling himself that cute wasn’t the same as like, and Beka would never like him, because he wasn’t fucking _gay_ . Yuri wasn’t really _gay_ either, he’d liked plenty of girls, but none of them were-- 

Well, none of them were Beka. At twenty-six he’d finally come to terms that he’d just be fucking single for the rest of his life. 

“Their gay asses aren’t cute,” Yuri finally sad, sinking down into the water. Otabek hummed again, turning to look away. Yuri finally snuck a peek at him, his eyes sliding down his body, taking in the rich muscles and tone of his figure. _God, it just wasn’t fair, was it_?

“You always act like being gay is the worst fucking thing imaginable,” Otabek said quietly. 

Yuri’s blood ran cold at that. He’d never thought that. At least, now he didn't. When he was twenty, sure, but he’d long since come to terms with it being _normal_. What wasn’t normal was lusting after your best friend twenty-four/seven, and dating a stream of girls over the years to forget about it. 

“There’s--” But the words got stuck in his throat. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” Yuri finally finished. “I just can’t stand to see them _all over each other_. It’s exhausting.”

“So you’re _cool_ with gay dudes?”

“Beka, I literally have no problem--”

“Is that why you’re all the way over there? The whole ‘two dudes chilling in a hot tub five feet away, because they ain’t gay’ thing?”

Well, this isn’t how he would have thought this night would go. 

“I think that beer is going to your head, Beka,” Yuri said lamely. But still, he crossed the distance between them, settling onto the bench beside Otabek. Even if it meant ignoring any and everything about the man, to do so. 

It was a pain, when crushes weren’t fucking crushes anymore. Love was suppose to be awesome, not a poison that slowly needled you away. 

“I’ve had _one_ ,” Otabek said, and he had the actual _gall_ to sound offended. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Yuri finally asked, narrowing his eyes at the man. He didn’t like this, whatever this was. Otabek was rarely annoyed, and he could just feel it radiating off of him. He could _see_ it in his face, the way that his dark eyes ghosted across his face and then to his--

Wait, why was Otabek staring at his mouth?

Otabek reached out, grabbing his wrist, just holding it. It wasn’t like they had never _touched_ before. Fuck, Otabek braided his hair all the time, or helped him dress when he wore skating costumes that were overly complicated. But there was something about this tiny little brush of movement that was different. 

It was like the touch burned his skin, and Yuri could _feel_ intent behind it, and suddenly his head was all foggy and his heart--

Otabek pulled suddenly, tugging him closer, and Yuri couldn’t stop himself. He practically fell into his lap, their faces close, their noses nearly brushing. They were too close, _too close_. 

Also, _what the fuck was Otabek doing?_

And then Otabek’s fingers found his chin, pulling his mouth upwards and-- 

“Otabek, what the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk. 

And then he was kissing Yuri, and like an idiot, he responded immediately and without a thought, because he’d wanted to do this for _four fucking years_. Yuri shifted his position, moving to properly straddle Otabek, his hands reaching out to grab his face. Now he had to bend down, because he had a few good inches on him, but Otabek met his lips greedily. 

It wasn’t a slow burn, or anything like he’d experienced with past girlfriends. It was all fire, and Otabek just _gave_ it to him, and Yuri just _took_ it. And it burned and burned and burned, until he felt like he was going to combust. The feel of lips sliding against each other, heated breaths pooling between them, and then Otabek slid his tongue along his mouth and---

Yuri abruptly pulled away, breathing hard. “I’m not fucking drunk enough for this,” he finally said. 

Otabek looked _hurt_ , and that wasn’t something that Yuri would have ever thought possible. But then the look was as gone as quick as it had flitted across his face. “Drunk enough for what?” he asked. 

And Yuri floundered for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. “For…” It was clear that Otabek knew something, but what exactly? That he hid his never-explored-or-explicitly-stated gay self, because he was only gay for _one dud_ e? Judging by the twinkling in his friend’s gaze, he probably thought that Yuri had some stupid crush on him, that it couldn’t possibly be something so deep and heavy as-- 

Nope, Yuri wouldn’t call it that, call it _love_ . He _couldn’t_ , because the moment that he did, would be the moment that things shifted again, and he just couldn’t afford for his life to turn fucking upside down again. 

“For making fun of me,” he finished lamely. “Cause obviously you’ve figured out that I--”

“ _Making fun of you_ ,” Otabek repeated. 

Yuri made a frustrated grunt. “Look, you can’t just go and imply that I hate gay people--” Otabek hummed at that, nodding slightly-- “And then just fucking _kiss_ me--” Otabek’s hands moved to his side, sliding upwards against Yuri’s skin, and his words faltered just slightly. “And-- and-- this kind of goes _beyond_ good-natured _teasing_ \--”

“I’m not teasing you,” Otabek said rather flatly. There was that _slightly_ annoyed looking glance again. 

“Look, I might be _kind of gay_ ,” Yuri finally said, and any other moment the words might have felt good, like he was lifting something off his chest. But this time, he felt backed into a corner, because Otabek clearly _knew_ that he wasn’t a straight arrow and picked _this_ moment to make fun of him and-- “But you aren’t, and that doesn’t mean you can just go and--”

Otabek laughed, and it wasn’t the quiet and barely-there-but-clearly-amused kind of chuckle that Yuri was used to. This was a full-blown laugh that consumed him, fluttering up from his belly, causing his shoulders to shake. 

“ _Beka--_ ”

“Yura, I’m not straight,” Otabek finally said, once he gained control of his laughter.

“ _What_ \--” Yuri spluttered. “I’ve _seen_ you date girls.”

“Yeah, I’ve dated girls. And then I met a guy who changed everything.”

Yuri would jot that down later on a list of things that he would have never thought Beka would say, _ever_ . “So what, you’ve just been _pretending_ to ignore it? If this guy is so special--”

“He’s been doing the same shit for years,” Otabek replied. 

“Beka--”

“Yura, you’re so fucking dense.”

“ _Beka--”_

Otabek grabbed at his hips and pulled him closer, pressing their hips together and-- Yuri’s grip on his shoulders tightened. There was no denying it, _that was_ … Yuri swallowed. Otabek was _hard_ against his crotch, and it made heat pool into his stomach and his blood go clammy, because that meant one thing, and one thing only. 

The look on Otabek’s face was flushed and heavy, but not necessarily lustful, it was something else, something that made Yuri’s heart damn near _burst_. 

“It’s safe to say that I’m pretty fucking gay for you,” Otabek finally said.

“Wow, _romantic_ ,” Yuri said dryly. 

“What would you rather me say?” Otabek asked. “That I’ve wanted to kiss you for years?” He yanked at Yuri’s hips again, rolling his own closer. “That I’ve wanted to feel you against me for as long as I can remember?” It wasn’t like Yuri could hide his own cock by this point, but he wasn’t prepared for them to brush against each other. Even through the swim trunks, the touch was divine, and he rocked closer, wanting more friction. 

“Beka,” Yuri whined. Otabek’s hand moved from his waist, to cross over his abs. He played with the muscles there, and then the fine and downy hairs just under his navel. Yuri wanted, _needed_ his hand further southward, but Otabek’s hand just _stayed_ there, unmoving. 

“ _Yura_ ,” he whispered, his lips close to his ear, “Can I?”

“Beka, I swear to God if you don’t--”

“Don’t what?”

Otabek was going to make him _say_ it. He was going to make him beg, and Yuri fucking hated it. Or maybe he loved it. Or maybe he didn’t fucking know anything anymore. AT least anything aside, Otabek straddled between his legs, his fingers brushing against his belly button, and the heat of the hot tub. 

“ _Beka_ ,” Yuri whined. 

Otabek’s other hand ghosted across his jaw, catching it between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled Yuri’s lips close to his, hesitating. “Yuri, I want you, I’ve wanted you for a _very_ long time,” he said to him, his thumb rubbing along Yuri’s bottom lip. “What do you want?”

How the fuck could Otabek ask him that? Wasn’t it obvious, with him straddled over his lap, kissing him with abandon, _grinding_ his hips against his with ill restraint. It’s clear, Yuri thought. It’s so fucking _obvious_ what he wants, but then there’s this _look_ on Otabek’s face and--

“Yura,” Otabek breathed, “I want to hear it. Tell me what you want.” Yuri watched as Otabek thumbed his lip again, his own mouth twisting into a smirk. 

_Oh_ . Otabek _needed_ to hear it, and it wasn’t fair, how good he looked at that moment. His eyes were hazed over, half-lidded and glazed, one hand still hooked around Yuri’s face, holding it gently. Waiting for him to say something Yuri would have thought it awkward, but it wasn’t, it was perfect, because it was a look that Otabek apparently reserved for _him_. 

He was still trying to process that piece of information, because if Otabek had liked him for years, then why the fuck had Yuri waited for so long? “I--” Why hadn’t Beka ever said anything? 

But words weren’t at the forefront of Yuri’s mind, at the moment. Otabek was patient though, his fingertips dancing along the waistband of his swim trunks. So Yuri made a rash decision, reaching down and grabbing at Otabek’s hand, pulling it downwards and straight to his cock.

Otabek smiled at that, pressing his lips to Yuri’s neck, squeezing the bulge in his swim trunks just _barely_ \-- 

The moan that Yuri let out was the most embarrassing thing to ever pass his lips. 

Otabek kissed his way along Yuri’s jaw, and then met his mouth again. Yuri practically swallowed the kiss, his hips rutting upward towards Otabek’s hand, trying to find that pressure again and-- 

Otabek pulled his hand away, moving to slide his fingers along Yuri’s hip bone once more. 

“It’s not fair,” Yuri breathed, pulling away slightly. “How could you think… Why did you-- why didn’t you _say_ something?”

Otabek sighed at that, lifting his other hand to brush back his bangs. “Yura, you’ve worn a new girl on your arm every weekend for the last four years. What was I _supposed_ to think?”

Well, in retrospect, yeah, that made a lot of sense. Yuri’s obsession with reigning in his feelings had done exactly what he intended. Otabek had fallen for him hard, but he’d also fallen for his ruse. 

“I just--” He broke up when Otabek pulled his hips closer again. Yuri burned with the delicious heat between the two of them. “I didn’t want to--”

That caused Otabek to pause, giving him a very serious glance. Yuri could tell that his self-control was wavering, but he waited for him to continue. Yuri swallowed thickly. “I didn’t want to fuck things up between us,” Yuri finally said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, Yura,” Otabek breathed, caressing his cheek again. “You know better than that.”

Logically, Yuri did, and when Otabek said it so easily, it made him feel really fucking stupid. Otabek was his best friend, _his person_. Even if he wasn’t actually gay, he probably would have waved the concern away, if Yuri had brought it up. 

Yuri grew bold at his words, reaching down to palm Otabek’s dick through his swim trunks. The low moan the man breathed was absolutely worth it. “Tell me about this man,” Yuri demanded coyly. “The man _who changed everything_.”

Otabek gripped Yuri’s hips, trying to move him. But Yuri was taller and more awkward, and he just didn’t really bend that way. He let Otabek guide him to the edge of the hot tub, the brick of the poolside flooring cold against his behind, contrasting to the warmth of the water that swirled around his legs. 

“He’s not always the brightest,” Otabek said, caging Yuri between his arms. Yuri opened his mouth to protest, but Otabek’s hands found him again, pulling their hips flesh together once more. The protest died in his throat, replaced by a breathy moan. “But he’s fierce,” Otabek continued, pressing his nose below Yuri’s ear, pressing a kiss against the juncture of skin there. “And he’s loyal, and he’s _beautiful_.” 

Yuri hitched his leg over Otabek’s hip, cradling the bone with his calf. Trying to ground himself, trying to pull him closer, trying to do _anything_ , really. Yuri had boned a lot of women in his life, but they never compared to this. _Nothing_ compared to this. 

Otabek pulled back just enough to look at Yuri, brushing his bangs back again, his knuckles ghosting lightly over his cheek. “Yura, you’re beautiful.”

He wouldn’t cry, he fucking _wouldn’t_ . As if this wasn’t the one thing he’d ever wanted, that he’d ever dreamed of. And there was Otabek, pressed between his legs, hard and aching, wanting _him_. 

This was a dream, it _had_ to be. 

“Beka, _please_ ,” Yuri whined, pressing his hips closer, pulling at Otabek’s shoulders. Otabek hummed at that, reaching between them, squeezing his hardness again. “Fuck,” Yuri hissed, chasing the motion with his hips. 

Otabek’s fingers slipped into the waistband of his trunks, and they both paused. Waiting. Finally, Otabek said, “Off,” tugging at them slightly. 

Yuri lifted his hips immediately, and said, “You too then.” Otabek didn’t even pause or miss a beat, effortlessly sliding off his own and kicking them to the side.

And then they were naked, and Yuri looked anywhere else, except where he actually wanted too. Otabek’s cheeks were red and flushed, his eyes sparkling with want, and _God it was almost worse._

Otabek pressed his fingers back to Yuri’s abdomen, just under his navel before heading southward. Yuri swallowed again, barely able to catch onto his breath. “Yura,” Otabek murmured quietly, “This isn’t just some whim. I--”

“Beka, the pool floor is hard, I’m fucking freezing, even tho my legs are in the water and I swear if you don’t _do_ something already, I’m literally going to combust.” 

Otabek opened his mouth, like he was going to say more, but decided against it. “Anything, for you,” he said, his lips twisting into a sly smile. 

“Beka, cut the cra--” His words died the moment Otabek gripped his length, and Yuri’s head fell back. His hands were warm and calloused, but his grip firm, and-- _Oh yeah, this was totally different than any of the chicks he’d been with._

Hook-ups had always been self-serving with the intent to forget. He would never forget this, the way the Otabek seemed to touch him reverently. His grip loosened slightly so he could pump Yuri’s cock gently. 

“Oh God,” Yuri managed, hissing once more at the contact, his eyes screwed shut. 

“At least say _my_ name,” Otabek joked. Yuri didn’t appreciate it one bit, that smug and sarcastic tone, but the thought was easily lost when Otabek slid his grip across him again. 

“ _Beka_.”

“Yura, look,” Otabek asked. Yuri opened his eyes to regard him through a half-lidded and hazy glance. “No,” Otabek continued with. His free hand left Yuri’s hip, taking hold of his chin and tipping it downward.

Yuri saw tanned skin against pale flesh, and even he could appreciate how good his cock looked in Otabek’s grasp. And there was the matter of that man’s _own_ length, rock hard and resting against Yuri’s thigh to the side. Yuri had already known Otabek circumsized, but he’d never really managed to sneak a good look, even when changing in the locker. 

His mouth practically watered at the sight of him. 

“ _Yura_ ,” Otabek breathed, and Yuri watched he hitched his hips forward, pressing closer to him and--

Yuri’s hand snaked between them, grabbing hold of Otabek. This was new territory, this was _decidedly_ not like touching himself, but judging by the sharp intake of breath of Otabek’s part, and the inability to hold back a moan-- well, he seemed to be doing a decent job. 

Otabek pulled Yuri’s hand away, only to grab both of their lengths, pressing them together. And then he unceremoniously licked his hand, wrapping it around the both of them, prompting Yuri to prepare to tease him about it, but--

Oh. _Oooh._ Yuri bit his lip, as his breath hitched instead, words failing him. Spit wasn’t as slick as lube, but it didn’t matter, it was _fine_ . Everything was fine and it worked well enough. The heat between the two of them, the friction of skin against skin, fuck, even the _smell_ of Otabek in general, Chlorine and all. 

Yuri hooked his legs around his waist tighter, and Otabek squeezed tighter, shifting his hips to pull back and press forward again. It wasn’t a practiced motion, but perfection wasn’t needed. 

All Yuri needed was Otabek, and that friction, and he finally had it. Otabek leaned forward, as Yuri hissed his name again, his lips pressing against his neck. His tongue snuck out, lapping at the sweat there. Yuri recognized that movement, it was something he did when he was trying to hold on, trying to eke out as much as he could, before tumbling over the edge. 

“Beka, it’s okay,” Yuri said, reaching down and grasping the hand that held them together. He could feel the tendons clench, squeezing tighter, sliding along their lengths as Otabek bucked into the grip. Yuri followed the motion. And then they repeated it several times.

“ _Yura_ \--”

“Oh, I’m right there with you,” Yuri said, unable to hold the laughter from his tone. Really, the sheer and utter ridiculousness of the situation-- Otabek had gotten a firm grasp on him literally _minutes_ ago, and already he was close to cresting that dangerous height. “I’m-- _fuck--”_

Despite Yuri’s dramatic curse, Otabek came first, his hips jerking slightly, his face pressed against the side of his neck and breathing heavily. And _fuck_ it was hot, because Yuri followed right after, catching that wave and tumbling over the edge as he whined Otabek’s name, punctuated by a curse. 

They sat there in a heaving, wet and hot mess. Otabek finally let go of their cocks, slipping his hand into the hot tub, shaking it slightly. 

“Ugh, how gross,” Yuri snapped, his bite back as quickly as it had left. 

Otabek chuckled slightly, before leaning over the edge and grabbing at his towel. He wiped his hand dry, albeit shakily. In fact, everything about Otabek screamed a tight wire that had suddenly snapped. He looked as though he didn’t know quite what to do with himself.

Well, if that didn’t do things to Yuri’s ego, he didn’t know what would. 

Yuri slipped back into the hot tub, despite his earlier disgust, the warm water a balm against his cold and clammy skin. And sore backside, because _damn_ , those pool stones weren’t comfortable. Otabek dropped beside him, sliding in close and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Yuri leaned into the touch without a second though. 

His heart practically burst at how natural it felt. 

“Baldy is going to fucking _kill_ us.”

“ _If_ he finds out,” Otabek sighed. “I’m definitely not saying anything. Besides, if you think that _they_ haven’t--”

“NOPE,” Yuri snapped. “Stop that thought _right_ there. The _last_ thing I want to think about right now is what they get up to in the privacy of their own home.” And out of their home, for that matter. Over the years, Yuri had been scarred enough times to literally _expect_ it. 

Otabek hummed in amusement, pressing his nose against the side of Yuri’s hair, pecking a gentle kiss above his ear. 

“Was this your plan, or something?”

“Plan?”

“You know, getting me into a hot tub, all hot and heavy.”

“Well, _no_ , but it’s definitely been a fantasy.” Otabek admitted. “And then you know, you walked in half naked and in a swimsuit, and--”

“ _Oh_.”

“ _Yeah.”_

Yuri let out the breath he’d been holding. “We’re both pretty stupid, huh?”

“A man profits more by the sight of an idiot, than by the orations of the learned.” Fucking Otabek, and his fucking proverbs. “And before you ask,” Otabek cut in, “it’s an Arab one.”

“Of fucking course.” 

“It’s about _ignorance_ , and do you know what my grandma says about _that_?”

“No, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

He felt Otabek’s lips twitch into a smile against the side of his head. “The good thing about ignorance, is that you can learn from it.”

“Oh, is _that_ what we were doing earlier?” Yuri asked, with a sly smile. 

Otabek splashed water at him, and Yuri turned quickly, climbing into Otabek’s lap again. And this time they looked at each other, they _really_ did. Otabek was wrong. Yuri wasn’t the beautiful one, _he_ was, with his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw. Slightly crooked nose and that little scar just above his eyebrow. Yuri swept his fingers over his face, before leaning over to kiss him again. 

And they just kissed and kissed and kissed. 

* * *

Later that night, they fell into bed to sleep. 

They’d always shared, Yuri realized, despite his discomfort. At a backward glance, he should have realized. Best guy friends don’t usually share beds into they’re late twenties. But Otabek and Yuri had always had a different dynamic and neither had ever questioned it.

Maybe they should have, because it would have led to mind blowing sex _sooner_. 

And yes, it was mind blowing, despite only getting as far as awkward palming and thrusting against each other. Good thing they had time, _plenty_ of time. 

Otabek was warm beside him, pressed against his back. An arm was thrown around him, his nose pressed against his neck, just _breathing_. It grounded Yuri. It probably grounded Otabek too. 

“I love you,” Yuri blurted into the quiet room. 

“I know,” Otabek said, without missing a beat. And then he pressed a kiss to the bones of his neck. 

“I mean, like, I’ve loved you _forever_.” 

“I know,” Otabek repeated, and then repeated the kiss. 

“And that’s… I mean, is that _it_?”

He felt Otabek chuckle, pulling back. Yuri turned to find Otabek regarding him with a fond smile. “Of course that isn’t _it_ , Yura,” he said. “I love you too, and that means we have _everything_ ahead of us.” 

“You just… You can’t just _say_ shit like that, Beka.”

Otabek reached out, twirling a long strand of Yuri’s hair between his fingers. “I knew you’d come around. I just didn’t think it’d take so long.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Never.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes, watching Otabek carefully, waiting for the _but_ to come. It never did. Otabek just had that slight half-smile across his lips, as his fingers played with his hair. Yuri snorted at that, but turned back around. Otabek slid closer immediately, pressing another kiss against his neck. 

“I really am stupid, you know,” Yuri whispered. 

Otabek didn’t reply immediately, only humming against the skin of his neck. Finally, he said, “There’s always tomorrow. And the day after that. You have all my tomorrows, Yura.”

 _Fucking Otabek and his fucking smooth words_. 

But Yuri smiled, because he was right. 


End file.
